


eloquence

by books_and_spite



Category: The School for Good and Evil - Soman Chainani
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble Sequence, F/F, Fluff, No Lesbians Die, Romance, Words, i like that tag :), like. themed around pretty words i like, no beta we die like august sader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:49:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28952208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/books_and_spite/pseuds/books_and_spite
Summary: Leonora Lesso has always had a way with words, and Clarissa- well, Clarissa is by no means as well-spoken as she is, but she learns, in time.
Relationships: Clarissa Dovey/Leonora Lesso
Comments: 10
Kudos: 15





	eloquence

**Author's Note:**

> i KNOW this is late i’m sorry :’) anyway enjoy this. love y’all

[Their relationship is not so much  _ words  _ as it is  _ actions,  _ but the words make it real. They are writing their own little story into existence, the two of them. They are setting it in stone.]

[Memories disappear. Stories do not.] 

* * *

_ i. _

Clarissa doesn’t really consider herself to be a lover of art. She can appreciate a pretty artwork like most people can, sure, can understand the beauty of a painting. But she isn’t well-versed in knowing how to really  _ see  _ beauty.

But Leonora- oh, it would be so very clichéd to call her a work of art, and Leonora herself would most certainly laugh at the description, and yet. And yet. There really is no better way to describe her. Clarissa can’t even  _ begin  _ to.  _ If I could write the beauty of your eyes, and in fresh numbers number all your graces, the age to come would say, 'This poet lies; such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.  _ Something, something, Clarissa has so very many of these sonnets in her head by now; that line still resonates with her. 

It’s just- braided dark hair, sunrise smile, beautiful amethyst eyes, the  _ light  _ in those eyes, oh, Clarissa is really in it now. She was always in it, but every day she falls even more in love with Leonora, she should be  _ used  _ to it by now but she really, really isn’t. Wow.

Leonora is beautiful in the way that poetry is beautiful; it’s lyrical and every line of her fits perfectly with the next and she  _ is  _ the best words in the best order. And then she’s beautiful in the way a painting is beautiful; vividly executed and moving and honestly sculpted perfectly, like some marble statue, some representation of the ideal person. And then- she’s beautiful in the way a good song is beautiful; harmonious and lilting, every aspect blending into an otherworldly sort of creation.

Clarissa doesn’t have enough words to describe it, not enough skill in writing or drawing or composing either- the only way she knows how to say it is in actions, maybe just. A touch here or there, a kiss,  _ more  _ than a kiss and it’s not enough but it’s all she has to give.

Leonora seems to understand, because of course she does, because they’ve known each other so long and they’ve been each other’s mirrors for so long. 

Still.

Clarissa wants to be able to tell her. 

She could memorize lines and lines of books and poetry- she’s good at that. She  _ could,  _ but it wouldn’t be personal enough, it would be empty and she knows that.

Ha. Memory’s not useful without creativity to back it up.

But- they go to a museum for a date, once. Clarissa knows everything about everything, recites facts all through the museum as they wander, arm in arm, and Leonora listens indulgently. 

“I love that about you, you know,” she tells Clarissa over tall cups of overly sweet coffee. “That you can  _ know  _ so much.”

Clarissa kisses her because she doesn’t know any other way to respond, whispers against Leonora’s lips,  _ you are so beautiful. _

Once Leonora pauses to study a painting more closely; she looks so flawless that Clarissa thinks that she could almost be part of the art.

“Beautiful,” she says.

Sunrise smile. 

(A post-it note on their fridge reads  _ aesthete,  _ that night.  _ Noun; a person who is appreciative of and sensitive to art and beauty.  _ It’s in Leonora’s handwriting. 

“Self-aware, aren’t we?” Clarissa teases.

“Maybe I’m talking about myself looking at you,” Leonora retorts.

That shuts Clarissa up.)

_ii._

Leonora loves the rain, really; she’d been the kind of wild child who would dance in it, stay out for hours and come back soaked to the skin. Clarissa, by contrast, had always preferred to stay inside, with a book and a cup of hot chocolate, warm and dry. She  _ hates  _ rain with every fiber of her being. They’re two very different people, in that way. Doesn’t change the fact that they were in love.

Clarissa has done a lot of stupid little things because she was in love, and a lot of  _ questionable  _ things, as well, but what Leonora is making her do right now might just top the list of “why am I even doing this” things.

“It’ll be fun,” Leonora had said, convincingly, and since Clarissa is a lovesick idiot she had agreed. And. Well. Now she’s stepping into the nearby park on Leonora’s arm and feeling mud squelch beneath her feet and she is, somewhat, regretting this.

But Leonora tilts her head up and smiles like the sun, and Clarissa supposes that’s repayment enough for her. The sunrise smile, she calls it in her head; Leonora would know how to name it better, but she doesn’t know about it and she never has. It’s enough to brighten up the cloudy day for Clarissa.

“I don’t  _ understand  _ how you can hate the rain,” Leonora says beside her, frowning. “It’s refreshing. And it hasn’t rained in so long, don’t you hate the heat?”

“I don’t like nature in general,” Clarissa points out. “Just _ especially _ rain. It’s too  _ muddy.” _

_ “I don’t understand,”  _ Leonora repeats. “Doesn’t it feel nice? Can’t you smell it?”

She spins on her heels, throwing her arms open. “It’s wonderful after the rain, Clarissa. Just  _ smell.” _

Clarissa sighs and obligingly takes a long, deep breath- huh. It  _ does  _ smell nice. Like summer, and dewdrops, and light and airy and  _ freeing. _

Not that she’s ever going to say that to Leonora, of course. That would be admitting defeat.

Leonora seems to know anyway, from the sunrise smile that she sends Clarissa’s way.

Clarissa rolls her eyes and kisses her, because Leonora may be absolutely intolerable sometimes but  _ hell  _ if she isn’t in love anyway.

_ (Petrichor,  _ she finds written on the note on their fridge the next day.  _ Noun; a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather.  _ Of course Leonora would do that. She adds a frowny face and a heart to the note. Neither of them takes it down.)

_ iii. _

For their respective strengths, you would think that Clarissa was a history nerd and that Leonora would gravitate towards poetry and fiction, but  _ no.  _ It’s the exact opposite- Clarissa is absolutely obsessed with poetry books, and Leonora knows pretty much everything about historical weaponry, plus scattered facts about everything else. (Of course it’d be weaponry. Leonora is a tiny ball of viciousness and she is  _ terrifying  _ when it comes to fighting. Clarissa still remembers the time when she and Rafal Mistral practically tried to kill each other in high school.)

Preferences notwithstanding, both of them are maybe just a  _ little  _ bit enamoured with reading. 

Their apartment is a veritable mess of old books because of that; books everywhere, on their kitchen counter, on their desk, on the floor, etcetera, etcetera. Clarissa has lost count of how many times she’s tripped over one. 

Eight a.m. on a Saturday morning, and Leonora comes stumbling into the kitchen. Clarissa obligingly pours her a cup of coffee from where she’s reading at the counter, watching her down it in a few gulps fondly; Leonora is  _ not  _ a morning person and it takes coffee to wake her up properly. Coffee as in  _ black  _ coffee. As in, coffee so bitter no one else can stand it. Clarissa really does not understand how Leonora can. 

Once she’s drunk her coffee Leonora looks a lot more awake; her eyes light up as she leans back in her chair. 

“We,” she announces, “need to go to the bookshop.”

“Any particular reason?”

Leonora gives a long, winding explanation about a history project she’s doing on the side, which boils down to:  _ I need more history books.  _ Well, Clarissa is more than happy to indulge that particular hobby. 

“Narnia?” She questions. Narnia, more formally known as A Closetful of Books but usually shortened affectionately to Narnia because of their lion-slinking-through-a-doorway logo, is a second-hand bookshop a few minutes’ walk away from their apartment, and one of their regular haunts. They haven’t been there in a while, maybe a month, because of life, and it would be nice to visit again. 

“Of course,” Leonora affirms, pouring herself another cup of coffee. “It’s a date.”

“How nice,” Clarissa says, feeling her mouth turn up at the sides. 

They finish their breakfasts slowly, talking through mouthfuls of food, and get dressed. Leonora wears a purple sweater and jeans and sneakers; Clarissa’s outfit is much the same, although she leaves her hair in its bun instead of Leonora’s strange, twisty, complicated braid. It’s going to be a good trip. They’re going to have a good time. 

When they get there, however- something feels off. 

The two owners seem muted compared to their usual standards, and a few shelves are empty, and there are boxes scattered in random places around the shop.

“Hey, August- what’s happening?” Clarissa calls. 

The man working the counter glances up at them. “Oh, Clarissa, Leonora. I didn’t expect to see you, it’s been a while.” He looks tired, worn-out in a way he’s never looked before. “You might be our last customers, honestly. Callis and I are closing.”

His partner, Callis, comes over, leaning against the counter. “No one visits anymore, so we’re moving out- we’ve got a place, and somewhere to restart the shop, but it’s still a  _ pain in the ass.  _ Next city over, too.”

“Oh  _ no,”  _ Leonora says, dismayed.

August smiles sadly. “You’ll find somewhere else. We’ll miss you both, though.”

Clarissa nods. “We’ll miss you, too.”

Callis sighs. “Well. Go get your books, I suppose.”

They do, Clarissa lingering over a few particularly interesting volumes as Leonora browses through the history section, finally emerging with four stacked in her arms. Clarissa picks up her own book and they’re on their way out.

August and Callis both smile at them, sincerely, as they leave. 

“Don’t forget us,” Callis calls after them.

“We won’t,” Clarissa and Leonora chorus back.

They walk back home in silence, curl up on the couch and start reading as soon as they get back. Leonora’s braid starts to loosen; a stray curl of hair falls over her eyes, Clarissa brushes it back.

“Thanks- so they’re going to move, soon, hm?” Leonora says distractedly, looking up. “I liked August and Callis. We went there for our third date.”

“Because it had old books with nice covers and it reminded us of some sort of home,” Clarissa agrees.

“It’s going to be strange.”

“We’ll adapt.”

Leonora laughs at that. “Yeah. We will.”

She leans back into Clarissa’s side. “Did you know-”

Oh, Clarissa is so in  _ love.  _

(Leonora’s note reads  _ vellichor  _ the next morning _. Noun; the strange wistfulness of old bookshops.  _ Clarissa smiles at that. How sentimental they both are. It’s always been this way, really- it’s what led them to start going to that bookshop in the first place. 

Clarissa would not give this up for the world, in any case.)

_iv._

It’s Valentine’s Day, at some point. Neither of them have ever liked it; too commercialised, too garish, too heteronormative. Still, Leonora enjoys indulging in stupid grand acts of love sometimes. 

They go about their normal day, for the most part. Leonora gets up earlier (still relatively late, it’s a Saturday) and makes coffee for the both of them, Clarissa pads into the kitchen to drink it and make breakfast. She decides to make pancakes, because apparently people do that a lot on Valentine’s Day. Specifically, heart-shaped pancakes. Which are  _ annoying  _ to make, but it’s worth it to see the delight on Leonora’s face. Clarissa drizzles chocolate syrup over both plates, and adds strawberries; it’s a  _ good  _ meal, if she does say so herself.

They kiss over half-eaten pancakes. Leonora’s mouth tastes like chocolate and coffee. It’s nice.

“We should go on a date,” Leonora proposes. “Valentine’s Day and all that.”

“It’s going to be crowded as hell in most places,” Clarissa considers. “Unless we go to the library or some other place like that.”

“Library sounds good,” Leonora agrees. “The café will be open too, we can have lunch there.” She glances at her watch. “I mean, it’s nine-thirty already, we could stay there for a while. Or we could get takeout and have a picnic at the beach.”

Briny Beach. It’s their  _ spot.  _ Mostly because it’s so bleak that no one ever goes there except them, but details. 

“Sounds like a plan.”

Leonora grins. “Picnic it is, then.” 

They get changed, head to the library on a tiny bus with broken air conditioning. After about two hours spent reading they go on to the café; the barista at the counter, Evelyn, raises her eyebrows at them. “Not going out on a date?” She questions. “Valentine’s Day in the library is usually considered boring, you know. Not that I can judge, but you two are  _ sickeningly  _ in love.”

“Says the woman who was pining after your  _ fiancée  _ Ruby for actual  _ years,”  _ Leonora snipes. “This  _ is  _ our date.” The two have always had this strangely antagonistic relationship, but it  _ is  _ all in good fun. Leonora and Evelyn have been friends since they first met, really. Clarissa is fine with that. 

Nonetheless, she steps in to stop the argument before it blows up. “This  _ is _ our date, which means  _ stop fighting already.  _ I would  _ like  _ to finish this.”

Leonora laughs. “Sorry, dear.”

Evelyn sighs overdramatically. “Like I said.  _ Sickeningly  _ in love.” She shoots Clarissa a wink as she passes them their bundle of sandwiches and pastries. “If you ever get tired of that one, call me. Ruby would be  _ down  _ for that.”

“Not happening,” Clarissa retorts. 

Leonora slips an arm around her waist. “Damn right it’s not happening.”

They walk out of the café, followed by Evelyn’s tinkling laughter. 

Clarissa dips her toes in the water when they get to the beach, sitting on a rock and unwrapping a sandwich. Leonora follows her, sitting in the sand. 

“Don’t you have sand in your jeans?”

“Worth it.”

“You’re  _ weird,”  _ Clarissa says affectionately.

“You  _ love  _ me,” Leonora sing-songs, then takes a bite of her own sandwich. 

Clarissa looks down into the water and smiles. “Yeah. I do.”

Leonora tilts her head, and then lights up. “I almost  _ did  _ forget- wait-” She bites into the sandwich again and pulls a note out of her pocket. “I wrote it. Last night. Excuse the ink stains. I was in a hurry.”

She presses the note into Clarissa’s hand, and Clarissa puts her sandwich down in her lap as she opens it.

And then. Words.

There are so many words, cramped and messy and Leonora is right it  _ is  _ stained but it is declaring love. Over and over and over again. Love. I love you. I always have. Clarissa can’t  _ breathe. _

Of course Leonora would do this.

And of course  _ Clarissa  _ wouldn’t, of course she wouldn’t say it, because-

This is really not the  _ time  _ for this.

Leonora is staring at her, frowning now. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Clarissa assures, smoothing the note. “It’s just. Well. You can express things like this, it’s beautiful, really it is- and I just  _ can’t.  _ And I’m sorry. For that.”

Leonora clambers up onto the rocks beside her, interlacing her fingers with Clarissa’s. “Don’t say that. I  _ know  _ you love me. You always have. And I can see that in everything you do.”

She leans over and kisses Clarissa on the cheek. “Don’t ever change.”

“I did nothing to deserve you,” Clarissa sighs.

“You  _ lived.” _

(The notes are starting to get familiar by now. Clarissa peers at the latest one as she reaches for the butter for her toast; it reads  _ axiom.  _ The definition is  _ noun; a statement or proposition which is regarded as being established, accepted, or self-evidently true. _

“That’s sweet,” she notes.

“It’s true,” Leonora smiles. “Isn’t it?”

“Of course it’s true, I love you, Leonora Lesso.”)

_v._

Two letters are sitting on their kitchen counter, one addressed to each of them. Clarissa and Leonora look at each other.

“It’s the job offers,” Leonora says.

“It’s the job offers,” Clarissa agrees. They both applied for jobs in the next city- pretty far away, but Leonora has been hellbent on teaching in a primary school and she managed to get the interview, and Clarissa has always intended to  _ use  _ her psychology degree. The social work opportunities in the next city are so much more  _ varied  _ than in their little town, and she applied for an opening.

She swallows and reaches for the envelope with her name on it at the same time Leonora grabs hers; they rip the envelopes open in synchrony. 

There are a few beats of silence.

“I  _ did  _ it,” Leonora blurts. 

Clarissa scans her letter- “So did I!”

They share an excited laugh and a kiss before Leonora brings up the  _ other  _ issue. The one that neither of them have been talking about. Because that would mean  _ change  _ and neither of them are ready for that yet. Six months since they moved into this tiny apartment they live in. And now.

“We’re going to have to move there.”

Clarissa sighs. “So we are. It’s not like we haven’t prepared, at least.” There is a small pile of apartment ads in a corner of their bedroom somewhere, torn out from papers and magazines. They’ve been collecting these since they first started talking about getting new jobs. 

Leonora’s mouth twists. “It won’t be the  _ same.” _

“Nothing is ever the same,” Clarissa shrugs. “We’ll adapt. We always have.”

Leonora doesn’t really look convinced. She still drops the subject. 

Over the next few weeks they tour a dozen new apartments, traveling to and from the city nearly three times a week. It’s tiring and  _ none  _ of the apartments fit what they need- Clarissa is starting to give up hope by the time a month has passed. 

And then! And then they stumble upon the perfect place. 

It’s tucked away in a corner, not particularly accessible, but close to their workplaces, and it won’t be too much of a hassle to get around. Small, but they’re used to that, and it’s warm in the way no big place could ever be. There are  _ windows.  _ So many windows. The whole place is lit with natural light. 

And it’s cheap. Clarissa is in love. So is Leonora, by the look of it. 

They end up renting it, and set a date for moving in- everything is settled, Clarissa is so  _ excited  _ but she does get what Leonora means. It feels so wrong to think of leaving their current apartment behind. It’s  _ home.  _

_ But home is where family is,  _ she reminds herself, and family is Leonora. As long as they’re together, they’ll be fine. They might even bump into August and Callis. 

(Home is memories.)

Still. Still. There’s such a sense of  _ loss.  _

On the very last night of their stay in their old apartment there’s a meteor shower. Clarissa and Leonora go out to the park to see it; they sit on a creaky old bench and watch the stars fall. It’s not often they can even  _ see  _ the stars. Their area is usually cloudy. 

Maybe it won’t be that way in the new place. 

Oh, Clarissa doesn’t want to  _ think _ about the new place. 

So. Here they are. Two girls, sitting in the dark, watching stars fall around them. It’s like the end of the world.

Well, it is the end of  _ a  _ world. 

As if reading her mind, Leonora speaks up. “It’s like they’re saying goodbye. The stars.”

“Such a short time they last,” Clarissa murmurs, tracing the path of a shooting star through the sky. 

“Some stay, though,” Leonora says thoughtfully. “You may not be able to see them, but they’re there. Who knows. Maybe they’ll shine brighter once the old stars fade. Maybe once we let go of attachments we’ll appreciate what we have more.”

“So poetic,” Clarissa offers. “I guess this is our life now?”

“I guess it is,” Leonora agrees. 

There are no more words after that. They interlace their fingers and just watch the sky burn. 

_ Maybe they’ll shine brighter once the old stars fade.  _

Clarissa hopes so. She really does. 

_ (Ephemeral. Adjective; lasting a very short time.  _ It’s not on the fridge anymore, Clarissa notes; instead it’s stuck to their kitchen counter. They’ve been getting used to their new home, but it’s hard when they’re so used to the shitty little apartment. How  _ did  _ they get so used to it, to their  _ home,  _ in such a short time?

“It felt like so  _ little  _ time,” Leonora says quietly from beside her. “And I still miss it.”

“Hopefully this won’t be quite so short,” Clarissa muses.  _ I want to stay with you. Forever.  _

Leonora tilts back her head to drain her coffee mug.  _ “We  _ won’t be,” she says surely.

“No,” Clarissa agrees. “We won’t.”

She kisses Leonora’s cheek and Leonora turns to kiss her  _ properly. _

It’s going to be a good life.)

* * *

[Love doesn’t have a definition. Not one that they like, anyway. But it’s there. Of  _ course _ it is.]

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on tumblr: [books-and-spite!](https://books-and-spite.tumblr.com/)


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